


Mustang

by becausenobreeches (crucibulis)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 09:48:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5370770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crucibulis/pseuds/becausenobreeches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU Tumblr drabble. Milo and Voraan and the long road to Halamshiral.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mustang

**Author's Note:**

> Voraan Lavellan belongs to [heartsung](http://archiveofourown.org/users/heartsung/pseuds/heartsung).

It’s a struggle to keep on alert amidst the monotonies of the road: the evenly spaced stripes and the lights that make the shadows grow and shrink in a continuous, repetitive dance. The squeaky slide of wipers against glass and the constant drizzle of rain. He has one of the most important lives in the world in his passenger seat, though, and so he fights to pay attention, watching for suspicious movement from the other cars as he listens to the chopped, coded conversations fizzling through the radio in his ear.

Cullen insisted that all the drivers have one, so they could communicate on the long journey in the event of an attack or other emergency. It’s a good idea; they’re barely-welcome guests in a nation at war, but so far the only use of them has been Cullen checking in on everyone at the top of every hour.

 _“Mustang, do you copy?”_ comes the Commander’s voice crackling in his ear, right on schedule.

Milo is in fact, _not_ driving a Mustang, something decidedly less conspicuous than that. But the code name has the double value of paying homage to his family crest, and throwing off anyone who might be listening in. If they’re stupid.  

It came as a surprise that they would even let Milo drive the most important car in the caravan, even if he was head of security. It’s not like he’s a professional driver, and there probably should have been more concern about mixing his duties with his personal life. But here he is, with a code name and everything.

He had petitioned for ‘Stallion’, but that was declined for obvious reasons. Still, it had been fun watching Cullen try not to laugh.

He lifts his finger to push the button on his earpiece. “Mustang here.”

_“Status and position, over?”_

“All clear, ser. We’re about thirty minutes away from the checkpoint,” Milo answers, just as an Inquisition motorcycle speeds by on his right, going at least twenty miles-per-hour faster than him, distracting Milo from the road for the briefest of moments. One of Leliana’s scouts, off to investigate what lies on ahead.

Cullen hasn’t said anything else, and Milo belatedly realizes he’s waiting for Milo to continue. “Over,” he said with a bit of a huff. He hasn’t quite gotten the hang of radio speak, but Cullen is all serious business about it. And is prodding everyone else to be the same.

_“Alright, we’re right behind you. Stay alert, over.”_

“Acknowledged, over and out,” Milo answers, just as Voraan begins to stir beside him. The elf makes a sleepy sound where his head is leaning against the window, moving stiffly as he pulls himself away from the foggy glass.

Milo only allows himself to reach over for a moment, putting his hand on Voraan’s knee and squeezing before he pulls away. With his lover nearby, keeping both hands on the steering wheel is a challenge all unto itself. “We’re almost there,” he says quietly, appeasing but not for the reason one might think.

Voraan wakes up a little more at that, a sharp breath rushing into his nose. He sits up and cranes his head to look out the windshield, squinting at the sight that is the High Quarter of Halamshiral.

Milo hasn’t let himself take in much of the scenery, too focused on the road, but it’s harder not to look when Voraan seems so in awe. Milo lets his eyes flit back and forth, never looking away from the road for even a half a second before looking back.

His fragmented impression of the place is several generations of Orlesian houses – or perhaps houses that have been built to look older than they actually are, as if that will make them belong there retroactively. Then there is the occasional elven structure that the conquering humans couldn’t be bothered to tear all the way down. Even in their decay, the old ruins tower above everything, a haunting presence that refuses to be ignored.

“I can’t believe all this used belong to the elves,” Voraan says sadly, his voice sticky with sleep. He collapses back against the seat, yawning as he glances over at Milo. The motions of his eyes are easily tracked, the way they half-glow in the dim light.

Milo hums in acknowledgement, unsure of what to say. He’s not sure there’s anything that he _should_ try to say. There’s no new ground to cover there; he and Voraan have spoken at length about human-elf relations, and despite _their_ particular brand of relations, it’s not a problem they’ve managed to solve by themselves. “You know what _I_ can’t believe?” he says to break the awkward silence. “I’m getting _paid_ to be your date.” Voraan snorts, a dignified, slightly put-out sound, and Milo thinks he sees an ear twitch out of the corner of his eye. “Not only am I getting paid, I’m getting _combat_ pay.”

Voraan chuckles at that. “I’m not sure what I think that says about me,” he ponders.

“It probably speaks more to the venue in which you’ve chosen to _have_ our date,” Milo reminds him. “Front row seats to the War of the Lions would not have been my first choice, I’m sorry to say.”

“Hmph. There is that,” Voraan concedes through a smirk. “I thought you would enjoy the Game, though. Being noble born, and all.”

Milo pulls a face. “Not really,” he mutters. “Maybe for our next date we can do something more Dalish.”

“Dalish don’t really go on dates.” Then Voraan laughs to himself a little. “I suppose we could just go hunting in the woods together.”

Milo cackles at that, struggling to keep his eyes open and on the road. “You jest, but that’s how I lost my virginity.”

Voraan turns to look at him with big, glowing, appraising eyes. He’s quiet for a moment longer than usual. “Is it really considered polite to speak with your date about your past conquests?”

Milo clamps down on his laughter, going immediately quiet. “…Suppose not,” he admits sheepishly. “Though I’d hardly have called it a _conquest.”_

“‘Encounters’, then,” Voraan amends.

“Fair enough. What, have you been getting date etiquette lessons from Josephine or something?” Milo snickers nervously. “Or are you actually jealous?”

Silence.

“Maker’s breath, is it _both?!”_ Milo laughs and Voraan huffs, turning back towards the window, ears drooping visibly in the dark.

“Just keep teasing me, _Captain,”_ he mutters, warning but affectionate, and barely audible for how he’s hiding his face. “We’ll see if you can’t earn that combat pay.”

Milo laughs so hard that he almost wrecks the car.


End file.
